


burning floors out

by OpheliaMarina



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Brief Casual Ableism, Ensemble Cast, F/F, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 21:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4114954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpheliaMarina/pseuds/OpheliaMarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max knows exactly how cliché it is to be an art student with a gay crush on the barista at the coffee shop. Her secret is: she has one anyway. If Chloe Price didn't smoke, she'd be absolutely perfect. </p><p>Chloe's secret is: she doesn't smoke. At least not in the typical sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	burning floors out

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: Thank you all so much for all the positive feedback on this fic, every comment and bookmark always makes me smile! Just for latecomers arriving after Dark Room: this was written before Episode Four release, so any appearances by Jefferson (vague as they might be) would not be there if written today.

Max is an art student, so naturally she has an inborn appreciation for the idea of smoky coffee shops. However, she's always thought 'smoky' was a descriptor of the coffee shop aesthetic, not of the literal air quality within. 

So it's a little surprising and a lot unpleasant when she walks into Whalesong for the first time and nearly coughs up a lung.

"You all right over there, princess?" calls the barista, after Max braces herself on a table and keeps on wheezing. Thankfully, being addressed snaps her out of her near-death experience, and she takes a deep breath, regroups, and approaches the counter.

"I'm fine, I'm totally good," Max says, even though her eyes are majorly watering, and the barista smirks. She's kind of really hot, which makes Max's attempt to asphyxiate even more embarrassing; bright blue hair and sharp eyes and a smooth black jacket and beanie, grungy without being greasy. "Ahem. One coffee, please." 

When the barista doesn't move, Max just blinks at her, feeling increasingly insecure as the seconds tick by. Finally, when the barista elaborates, "What kind of coffee?", she feels almost relieved.

Then she gets nervous again. "Um," she says, to stall for time. Back home, unless you were lactose intolerant or obnoxiously elitist, there was no kind of special way to order coffee. "Coffee coffee," she says meekly. 

Surprisingly, that makes the girl grin, instead of roll her eyes. "One coffee coffee, coming right up," she says, and disappears behind a very large machine that presumably has something to do with making coffee. She keeps talking, though, her voice carrying over to where Max stands, uncertainly clutching her bag. "So let me guess. You're some small town artist studying under the great Professor Jefferson. You a freshman?" 

Yes, yes, and yes. Max's grip on her nag loosens a little as she chuckles. "Is it that obvious?"

"Not totally, but the coffee coffee thing kind of gave it away." Smoke is rising up from the machine, but the barista isn't making any sounds of distress so Max assumes everything is fine. "Besides, we get a lot of students in here. You're the only ones who come in this early."

Max bristles a little. It's true she's the only one in the café, but the place is small and anyway, it's not like it's some ungodly hour. "You were open!"

The barista reappears, laughing and holding a concoction that doesn't look like any kind of coffee Max has ever had. "Chill, princess. We have to open early, it's the only edge we have on the Starbucks down the street." She takes a pen out from behind one of her ears, uncaps it with her teeth, and poises herself to write on the side of the cup. Her mouth is vaguely emitting smoke, and no matter how hot the girl may be, Max is going to be pissed if she finds any cigarette butt in her drink. "Name, please? I appreciate this is probably an important moment for your Instagram." 

"I'm not that cliché," but when the barista raises an eyebrow and doesn't move, she concedes, "Max." 

Scribbling across the side of the cup, the other girl responds, "Chloe. Here's your coffee coffee." 

She hands it across the counter, and makes change as Max tentatively sips at it. It's, shockingly, delicious- certainly not the regular coffee she'd attempted to order, but without a doubt much better. "This is great," she says with feeling, then, eyeing the syrupy mess around the rim of the cup, "Is it going to kill me?"

"Only if you're not immune to arsenic," the self-proclaimed Chloe says dryly, handing her back a wad of bills and coins. Still, she seems pleased with herself, smoke curling up from the creases in her lips again.  
"I'm serious," Max says, even as she takes another sip. "What's in this?"

Chloe grins. For a smoker, she has very nice teeth, pristinely white with sharp incisors. "How am I supposed to keep your patronage if I let slip your preferred coffee combo? So you can sashay over to Starbucks?" 

"Good business strategy," Max says, "though I'm not much of a sashayer," and Chloe is nodding vaguely and about to speak when Max's phone buzzes. 

Warren: where u at maxster??  
Kate <3: I've saved you a seat. 

Slipping her phone back in her pocket, she gives Chloe an apologetic glance upwards. "I have to get to class, but it was nice to meet you, Chloe. I'll be back soon, I promise." 

"I'm counting on it," Chloe says, and she really does have a nice smile. Usually smokers are a turnoff for Max, but maybe she can make an exception this one time. 

The air outside the shop is bitingly chilly, but at least it's clear, and it's no easy feat to hold coffee in one hand and Instagram it with the other, while jogging, but Max prides herself on being an artist. 

madmaxfurytoad: the barista at whalesong is really cute

Immediately, there's eleven likes and a comment from juliet_watson, demanding pics.

Max grins, and breaks into a sprint. 

xxx

After that, Max comes to Whalesong a lot, partially because it's simply a lot cheaper than Starbucks and hey, a girl needs her coffee, but mostly just for Chloe. It doesn't take long to learn Chloe's not a student, even though asking around at an art school for a girl with blue hair usually reaps a lot of results, so being an avid customer is the only excuse to see her.

("So, this cute barista you mentioned on Instagram," Dana says, blowing against her Starbucks cup and walking at such a brisk pace that Max is tripping to keep up. "My type? Your type? Juliet and I need deets." 

Max giggles. "Probably not Juliet's type. She's kind of soft grunge."

"Huh," Dana says, and offers her a sip. Max declines. "Well, I'm not out of the running, but the walk to Whalesong is killer in platforms, so pro and con me." 

Juliet and Dana do live on the other side of campus, and besides, Max maybe doesn't want to be opening Chloe up to the general market. She feels like being selfish this time. "Well, err. She's pretty. Kind of... bold? And I like her."

Dana waves an elegant hand, swallowing a mouthful of scalding hot coffee without even blinking. "Say no more," she says. "We respect dibs in Gamma Zeta Gamma. Good luck, Max. Tell me if you ever need a wingwoman." 

Every time she sees Max with a coffee in hand after that, she makes a big show of winking. 

Max likes Dana.)

She learns a lot about Whalesong through frequent visitation; from what she can tell, it's made up of three workers. Chloe's there most often, full time and full shifts. 

("And let me fucking tell you, princess," she says, scribbling 'Max ;)' across the side of the cup as Max stuffs cash back into her bag. "I hear from all you photographer wannabes how hard it is to subsist as an artist, how inconsistent, and it's bullshit. You wanna exist in real liberal hippie poverty, try working at a fucking coffee shop." 

Max switches her phone from one hand to the other, snaps a quick picture of Chloe's chipped blue nails holding the cup, and takes it from her. "Well," she says innocently, taking a sip, "I guess the trick is to keep up a positive attitude the way you do, right?" 

Chloe scrunches her nose at her. "How can I keep up a positive attitude when I have smartass hipsters sassing me on the daily like this," she says, but she's smiling too hard to scowl convincingly.)

Her mother Joyce, a pleasantly round woman with a strong Southern accent, mostly bustles around in the kitchen out of sight, but occasionally comes out to nag Chloe.

(Max meets Joyce on a busy Wednesday afternoon, while Chloe is trying to hold up a conversation and fill three orders at once. Max does her best to keep up, but mostly fidgets, feeling awkward with a drink in hand. "I shouldn't keep you-" 

"Shut the fuck up, I'm not done with my story and you don't have class for an hour," Chloe says, and shoves some grumpy-looking business man a coffee with a, "yeah, here you go, keep your panties on." 

"Chloe!" barks a voice from inside the kitchen, and Chloe groans. "What in the fresh hell is holdin' up the line out there-"

A honey-blonde woman emerges from the kitchen, drying her hands, and immediately most of the men in the shop burst into pleased laughter and conversation. She waves them off, rests one hand on her hip, and glares. "Chloe, what is-" Then she sees Max backed into the corner, looking as though she's been caught in some kind of trap and appropriately guilty. Her mascara-heavy eyes widen, and she lets loose a fluttery, "Oh, my."

In Max's peripheral vision, Chloe winces, just slightly, and immediately speeds up production, hands out five drinks at once. "Ugh, Mom, I'm on it. Max, this's my mom. Mom, that's Max."

"As if I couldn't tell!" Chloe's mother says, and lifts the separator to usher Max behind the counter. "Oh, honey, come right in, it's all right. It's wonderful to finally meet you." When Max reaches out for a handshake, she ends up being hugged tightly. From somewhere muffled and faraway, she can hear Chloe groan. "Chloe goes on about you, you know, but never tells me when you're here! I think she's just embarrassed, but goodness, aren't you just the sweetest looking thing. You can call me Joyce, and-"

A hand grabs Max by the hood of her sweatshirt, and she's jerked backwards by Chloe, her arm settling over Max's shoulders. "Mom, let her breathe." 

Chloe's skin in obscenely warm, burning through three layers of fabric as her hand curls into the bone of Max's shoulder. Max squirms a little, but Chloe doesn't go anywhere. 

Joyce huffs. "Well, maybe if you'd introduced us properly your mother wouldn't have to embarrass you in public like this, Chloe." 

"You always embarrass me in public, and besides, Max comes all the time." Max's not quite sure where to look- Joyce's expression is bright as the sun, almost painful, but Chloe's face is too close to turn and look at without feeling like an invasion of personal space. "And, anyway, it's not like-"

There's an annoyed yell from back at the counter. "Joyce! Who do I gotta kill to get a cuppa joe here?" 

As quick as a light switched off, Joyce's expression goes sour, and she rounds on the customers, most of whom begin to whoop. "If y'all think-"

With a grudgingly appreciative look after Joyce, Chloe squeezes Max's shoulders once and lets her go. "You can see where I learned my manners. Anyway, so by the time I got to the skatepark, Trey was already high as shit, right, so-"

Joyce doesn't let Max leave the café before giving her enough scones to feed her entire dorm, on the house. She tuts that Max is 'too skinny, you girls are losing that healthy curve more and more each year', but she can't stop smiling for a moment, and only leaves when Chloe bodily pushes her back into the kitchen. 

The two girls end up stacking scones in a bag together. "Good for you," Chloe says, "you've got on both my mom's and my good sides. I hope you know we're not this nice to everybody." 

"So, I have to ask," Max says, snatching a scone from Chloe before it can be bitten into, "if it's not your charming Southern hospitality that keeps this place running, how on earth are you still in business?"

Chloe just gives a wry, enigmatic smile. "Rachel," she says.)

Rachel, as it turns out, is a stunningly beautiful girl who goes to school with Max, studying fashion design. She mans the counter and coffee machine in interchanging shifts with Chloe, and is infinitely more popular.

(Upon their meeting, Rachel apparently knows a lot more about Max than Max does about her. In fact, the first time Max ever comes in during her shift, Rachel Amber hops the damn counter to meet Max at the door, with six people in line waiting, and clasp both her hands. 

"So you're the mysterious Max!" she says, and she has many white teeth and very bright eyes and she's practically blinding to look at. Max didn't stand a chance; she's dazed just looking at her. "I've been dying to meet you, you have no idea, but Chloe gets embarrassed about having feelings so-" 

Luckily, Chloe comes out of the kitchen just as Max manages an uncertain, "um," and immediately vaults the counter as well. The customers start muttering indignantly, but neither barista seems to notice. "Rachel!"

Which seems to remind the girl holding Max's hands into saying, "Oh yeah, sorry, I'm Rachel Amber. I know who you are, of course. You live in the Kingston dorms, right? I'm in Smithy."

This actually means something to Max, and she nods in relief as Chloe looks between the two with an expression akin to panic. "What- Rachel-"

"Relax," Rachel says, releasing Max's hands and letting her own swing casually by her sides. "I'm not hitting on her, I'm just saying hello. You were right, though- Max, you are super cute."

Coming from the definition of beauty queen (Rachel Amber- that sounds kind of familiar now. Like, homecoming-queen familiar), Max feels less than cute and more the bad kind of grungy. Still, she stutters appropriately as Chloe glares at Rachel, then looks between her and Max again with the same nervous expression from a moment ago. Then, with what appears to be an attempt at casual teasing that falls a little short because of the shaky laugh that accompanies it, Chloe says, "Rachel, shit, what've you been telling her?"

Innocently, Rachel says, "Nothing, she just came in. I wanted to meet her, since you literally never shut up about her."

Distracted from feelings of inadequacy for a moment, Max manages a smirk sideways at Chloe. "You never shut up about me?"

With an accusatory look at a smug Rachel and another jittery glance at Max, Chloe waves a hand and mutters, "Not- well-" 

Max's never seen Chloe flustered before. It's fucking adorable. If this is Rachel Amber's impact, then Max is going to become better friends with her. 

"Anyway!" Rachel says, clapping her hands together and turning back in the direction of the counter. "I'm gonna make you a coffee, Max. I know Chloe has a special one for you, but I just made up something I want you to try." 

The announcement causes some frustrated complaints to break out from the ever-increasing line, but Rachel just flashes the crowd a sweet, apologetic smile and a, "sorry guys, it'll only be one second and you'll all get ten cents off, deal?" and they immediately subside. She turns back to Chloe and says, "Okay, Che, you don't have to knight-in-armor your girl anymore. Go and help Joyce."

"Don't tell me what to do," Chloe gripes, but does what she says anyway, giving Max a wave and a few uncertain, almost shy glances before the kitchen door swings shut behind her.

As Rachel hands Max her coffee, she leans way over the counter to whisper to her. Max does her best not to look at the (frankly, impossibly perfect) display of her physique, because she's already too invested in Chloe. "By the way, when you get the chance, ask Chloe what her tattoo means. I mean, I'm not into her, we're BFFs, but to be honest? It's pretty hot." 

Max tries not to think too hard about this information. 

And the coffee Rachel makes her is delicious, but a little too rich. Not something for everyday, the way Chloe's coffee is.)

The café always floods with people during Rachel's shift so Max doesn't see too much of her, but her impression is that she's convinced she and Max are close friends, which isn't necessarily a problem. She waves energetically to Max when they see each other on campus, so that's something. 

(Warren literally stops in place the first time he sees it happen. Max and Kate keep walking; after about thirty seconds, he's jogged up to match pace with them again. "Mad Max," he says breathlessly, partially for dramatics and partially from the running. Max glances up from her phone, where she's rapidly scrolling through Jean Bieret's thesis on black and white photography in the postmodern period. "How the hell do you know Rachel Amber?" 

The thesis is more important in the moment, so Max doesn't respond until she's a paragraph from the end and Warren's tried to trip her three times. "Friend of a friend," she says. "We see each other around. I like her."

"No shit, everyone likes Rachel Amber," he says, then vibrates eagerly. "Do you think you could maybe get me the hookup with her?" 

"You're gross," Kate observes calmly from Max's other side. 

As Warren sticks his tongue out in protest and Kate giggles, Max finishes the thesis and checks her texts. Chloe's sent her a selfie next to a cup full of what looks like steaming water and nothing else with the caption 'i poured myself a damn cup of water and my own mother charges me $1.32, capitalism is hell.'

"What are you smiling about?" Kate says, prodding her in the side just above where she's most ticklish. 

Max laughs, and bumps against Warren, who bumps her back. "Nothing. And Warren, even if I could hook you up with Rachel, I wouldn't. She's way out of your league." 

His indignant sputtering lasts through their next three classes, and finally Kate locks him out of the lecture hall to get him to shut up.)

What Max learns about Chloe subsists of this: all the respiration-halting smoke in the café is due to her, she takes coffee disgustingly sweet, she's a high school dropout and Joyce is her only parent, all of her clothes have a skull somewhere on them, Rachel is her best friend, and she likes Max's photos. She seems to like Max, too- she laughs at her shitty jokes and remembers how to make her specialty coffee, whatever's in it, and seems to spend a lot of time doodling on Max's cup before selling it to her. 

("Please don't draw any dicks, I need to take that to class," Max says, because she's fallen into that trap before.

Chloe snorts. "What do you take me for," she says, "I'm a professional," and hurriedly scribbles a large, Sharpie-dark flower next to Max's name. "There."

Max takes it in both hands, fingertips brushing against Chloe's, whose skin is always ridiculously hot, and says, "Big plans for Thanksgiving?"

The most telling part of her response is a snort. "Nah. In my family we're not really big on thanks.")

Another thing about Chloe: Max doesn't know all there is to know about her, and sometimes she feels like there are one or two things she ought to know instead of just blindly crushing on her like a thirteen-year-old. Besides, if she ends up as a photography art student in the Big City with a crush on the punk barista with blue hair and tats, Warren will never let her live the intensity of the cliché down. 

And yet. 

Something about Max Caulfield: she's crushing blindly, stupidly, on the punk barista in the Big City, even if said barista is probably going to die of lung disease before age thirty. 

xxx

It's the last day before winter break when Max hurries into Whalesong on snow-damp, stumbling heels, wrapped up in the biggest coat she owns and setting the bell above the door clattering. The shop is empty, and Chloe looks up from washing off the counter. "Oh- hey, princess. Didn't think I'd see you again before the break." 

"Hi, yeah, well, I needed an excuse for being late," Max says, beginning to shoulder out of her coat before pausing. "Oh, sorry- can I put this on a table? It's wet."

Chloe just nods, tossing aside the rag and leaning on one elbow atop the counter instead, watching Max peel out of the jacket. "Late for what?"

"Oh, you know," Max says, dumping her coat on the nearest table and starting to comb snow out of her hair. "Last day before winter break, all photography students present our final as part of an art exhibit at the museum, it's kind of a big deal- jeez, it's warm in here- the whole class comes and we have to get dressed up, and of course I'm fucking late because I can't get a goddamn taxi and I'm going to show up soaked so I figured I would get Professor Jefferson a coffee as an excuse slash apology, and besides I wanted to- what?" 

Because Chloe is staring at her with mouth slightly agape, still leaning with one cheek in her hand. Max looks down at herself, a little self-consciously. She's squeezed herself into the only good dress she owns, a tight black number she's starting to think might be a little too short for a museum visit. "This? Oh, god, do I look slutty? I don't want to be late, look slutty, and walk in with a coffee for Jefferson, Jesus Christ, talk about your kissass behavior-" 

"No, no," Chloe says, blinking hard as though she's snapping herself out of déjà vu and straightening up. "Err. No, don't worry about it. You look hot. Anyway, coffee for Jefferson." 

She quickly disappears behind the machine, and there's a lot of clanking and whirring, more than Max is accustomed to. Curious, she peers over the counter, but Chloe is hidden from view; instead, all she can see is so much grayish smoke that a bomb concern isn't entirely ludicrous. 

She leans back on her heels and fixes the hem of her skirt, smiling quietly to herself. "You know," she says, because they're probably friendly enough now that she can offer Chloe some health advice, "you should really quit smoking, I know it's addictive but it's best to wean off while you're still young." 

Chloe appears back at the counter, pink in the cheeks and holding a neatly poured coffee cup and cardboard tray. "What?" 

"Nothing," Max says, because it's not her place and she doesn't want to ruin the fact that Chloe thought she looked hot and it's practically the holidays, anyway. "Anyway, thanks. How much do I owe you for this? I don't know Jefferson's order." 

"It's on the house," Chloe says breezily, even though it seems she's fascinated by something over Max's left shoulder. "Merry Christmas." 

Max already is sorting out bills in one hand, and so she pauses, looking up with one hand full of crumpled ones. "Oh, Chloe, you don't have-"

"Just fucking take it, hippie," Chloe says, shoving Max's shoulder across the counter. Max ripples with the movement, grins and shrugs, puts up her dress for the feel of pockets, and finally stuffs the money in her bra. Chloe watches the movement of her hand with unfocused eyes. "Anyway, I'll walk you out. Shop is closed up anyway, technically you're breaking and entering." 

Max scoffs. "Your lights were on," she says, but waits for Chloe to circle the counter and lift the separator up before proceeding to the table where her damp coat lies. Chloe holds the tray while Max pulls her jacket back on, and they head out into the snow together.

As soon as the bell jangles the door shut, Max's eyes open wide, and she taps herself on the forehead with the heel of her hand. Chloe watches her, looking amused and a little puzzled. "What is it now?"

"I totally forgot, I also wanted to come to give you your gift!" Max says, and starts rustling around in her pockets. "God, scatterbrain." 

When her hand splays over the small, crinkled-paper square and she looks up again, Chloe looks completely horrified. "You did not get me a gift." 

Max freezes, but Chloe doesn't seem to notice, just keeps speaking with breath coming out in panicked, steamy puffs. "I didn't get you anything! What would my mom say?"

Relaxing, Max chuckles. "She'd probably tell you how much better a daughter I'd be than you," she says, "like the last five times I've seen her," and she withdraws Chloe's gift from her pocket. It's a little squashed, but shiny and heartfelt under the thin yellow light shining down from ten feet above their heads. 

Chloe's just looks at it apprehensively, her hands jammed stubbornly beneath her armpits. "Max, I'm serious," she says. "I didn't buy you anything. You've been buying coffee from me for months too, this feels weird." 

"Just fucking take it," Max says, an echo, and shoves it forward so it'll fall if Chloe doesn't catch it. Which she does, cursing quietly. "It's a gift from your friend, not your customer. Anyway, I didn't buy it, we're both broke as shit. I made it."

With one last skeptical look upwards, Chloe looks down at the package, removes the bow and sticks it against Max's hair without looking up, and tears the paper away in one vicious movement. Uncertainly, she looks at the nondescript leather cover of a small album, turns it over, then opens it. She frowns downwards at the first picture (rain-drenched windows with lights on and a blurry flash of blue just beyond), then the second (the sun just peeking out from behind the streetlamp that's hanging above them right now), and at the third (the ends of blue locks of hair and a sardonic smile curling upwards, eyes hidden but the crinkles beneath them just caught), her breath catches slightly. "Wait- shit, hang on-"

Proudly, Max rocks back on her heels. "Yep," she says. "That's three months worth of pics I took around here. There's sixty. You're in forty of them." 

"Sixty?" Chloe repeats, not looking up as she continues to flip through the pictures at increasingly speed. "When the fuck did you take sixty pictures here?" 

"I'm an artist," Max says smugly. "Artists must be subtle to achieve true sublimity." 

The book flips to the last page then shut, but Chloe keeps staring down at it like there are wonders hidden in the back cover. "This is really for me?"

"Well, yeah," Max says. "Actually, some of the pictures in there, the ones with the blue stickers, I used as part of my final. But these are all original copies." 

Chloe huffs out a laugh, a single cloud of smoke that floats up and disappears into the streetlamp. "The final you have to be at right now?"

Oh yeah. "Oh, yeah, shit. I really have to go." She swipes her hair out of her eyes, untangles the bow from her hair. "Well, do you like it?"

"Do I like it?" Chloe repeats incredulously, finally looking up and touching the book to her chest with both hands. Her eyes are bright and glittering in the light of the moon and failing electricity, and Max wishes she had brought her camera for this. "Max, this is- this is maybe the most incredible thing anybody's ever done for me." 

She's probably just saying that because she didn't get Max a gift back, and Max scoffs and looks away. "Flatterer."

"No, Max, it is." Her tone is imperious, turning Max's gaze back towards her, and Chloe's gaze is as honest as it is forceful. "It is." 

Sometimes Max doesn't get Chloe at all, like in moments like this. But love isn't always about understanding, and maybe she's in love. 

There's nothing impressive to say in the face of this revelation, so she just hugs her coat tight around her and says, "Merry Christmas, Chloe." 

But Chloe doesn't say anything back. She holds the album tighter to her chest, looks hard at Max's eyes, then a little below them, and then upward. A surprised laugh escapes her, and Max looks up to see nothing above them but Whalesong's awning and snowflakes gathering in her eyelashes. "What?"

"Uh, nothing," Chloe says, still looking upwards and smiling ruefully. "We were gonna put up mistletoe there, so I was gonna make a joke, but I guess Rachel forgot to hang some up." 

In that moment, Max is supremely grateful for Rachel Amber. She isn't sure she could handle a mistletoe scare right now. 

And yet somehow its absence makes her feel more in control of her own action, more confident in it, and she leans in and kisses Chloe's upturned cheek. 

Chloe goes still as a scared cat, but Max is warm and buzzing beneath her jacket and feeling romantic and lucky in the faint starlight. She can't be bothered with nerves. "I gotta go," she says, "bye, Chloe, I'll see you in the New Year," and she hurries down the block with Jefferson's coffee in hand, and doesn't stumble in her heels once. 

She does look back at the corner, and Chloe's still beneath the awning, not looking at Max but still frozen in place with the album pressed over her heart. It might be a trick of the light, but it looks as though steam is rising directly off her body, whitish and thin in the yellow light. That's the image Max has stamped in her memory of Chloe all winter.

She ends up an hour late to the gallery, but Jefferson is fond and forgiving, and she gets an A anyway. The only picture she doesn't get mailed back by Christmas is the one of her hand and Chloe's just touching across the counter, their chipped nails crossing one another's, Chloe's whole hand dark and filthy with pen ink and caramel. Max had just dated the image without a title- 11.21.14- and apparently Jefferson wants to submit it somewhere. 

It's the only picture of Whalesong Max hadn't included in Chloe's album. It's pinned up in her dorm room instead. 

xxx

When she comes back to school in late January, Rachel Amber comes bounding across the campus to talk to her on the very first day back, hopping elegantly over a snowbank and grabbing Max's hands to spin them both in a circle. "Hi, Max! How was break?"

"Hey, Rachel," Max says, breathless from spinning and surprise and just how pretty Rachel is. "It was good, nothing too special. You?"

Giggling, Rachel brings them both to a stop, and they stumble into each other, her hands still clasped tight over Max's. "It was great! I got a tan, if you can believe it. Anyway, I have something for you." 

A couple of students are staring. Max tries not to look at them, tries to focus on Rachel's face instead. "Oh yeah?"

"A late Christmas gift," Rachel says, grinning slyly and reaching into her jacket's breast pocket, "from a certain mutual friend," and she cups whatever it is in both hands so Max can't see it, then hoops her arms over Max's head. 

Max goes still, mostly in surprise, but Rachel just brushes back her hair and loops a string around her throat, perfect nails scraping against the back of her neck as Rachel's hands methodically make a knot. Finally, her hands unclasp, and she steps back, stares at Max critically, then hums in satisfaction. 

Looking down at herself, Max finds a small, heavy red stone, shiny and smooth as sea glass, tied around her neck by a sturdy piece of twine. It's warm, like it's been lying in the sun for a long time, and surprisingly elegant, wine-dark and faintly glowing from where it sits on her collarbone. "This is from Chloe?" 

"You got it," Rachel says, coming forward again and lifting up the stone to admire it. "You know, she wanted me to tell you she didn't spend anything either. She had this already and just asked me to help her make a necklace out of it." The reflection of red light glimmers across Rachel's cheek, and she grins mysteriously, the way she does sometimes- like she knows a secret she can't wait to have Max find out about. "This is really special to her, so don't lose it, okay?"

It is a very nice stone, but Max doesn't quite understand how it's special. "Of course I won't. It's beautiful, Rachel, thank you for bringing it. But-"

Dropping the stone back against Max, Rachel cuts her off by leaning in and pressing a kiss to her cheek. "Sorry, Max, but I gotta go. We'll see each other soon, okay? Love you!" 

And just as she'd came, she goes, the crowd that had gathered staring after her and leaving Max with a new, warm weight around her neck. 

Max goes into Whalesong the next day to thank Chloe for the necklace, but when Chloe sees her wearing it, she just blushes furiously and tells Max not to mention it. 

xxx

Spring has sprung when Max finally brings Kate and Warren to Whalesong for the first time. The frequent cajoling of the latter and the polite interest of the former can wear a girl down.

It's an unusually warm and sunny day, and Max has barely even stepped inside when rough, bare arms are tossed around her neck, Chloe's elbows knocking against her clavicle. "Max! It's warm!" 

She's in a tank top and cutoffs, which is barely appropriate for the weather and certainly not for work. Thanks to the outfit, though, Max is able to see for the first time her rumored tattoo, flaming red pink black as it snakes its way up her arm and down her shoulder blade, finally concealing itself behind the thin fabric against Chloe's back. As she admires the portion she can see, she says, "This kind of weather is definitely a sign of climate change, Chloe." 

Chloe pouts, and doesn't make any sort of effort to untangle herself from Max. Her face is really close, and she absolutely reeks of smoke and salt but Max wants to kiss her anyway. "You're such a downer. I've been freezing all winter, I wasn't born to exist in the cold."

"Humans weren't born to exist in a rapidly warming planet, either, but-"

Without much delicacy, Warren elbows his way through the door behind Max, making space for Kate to squeeze through after him. "Don't let us cramp your style or anything, Maximilian, but we're still here." 

"Oh, sorry!" Max says, and hopes everyone will excuse her pink cheeks to the humidity. Chloe's still wrapped around her, though- in fact, her arms seem to lock even tighter once Warren and Kate enter, and she gives them both a cool once-over. "Warren, Kate, this is Chloe. Chloe, this is Warren and Kate, they're my friends from college." 

Warren just nods, giving Chloe an appraising look, while Kate sticks a hand out. "It's really nice to meet you, Max talks about you all the time."

Instead of teasing like Max would've expected, Chloe just nods vaguely and gives Kate a sloppy knuckle bump, then untangles herself from Max's neck. "Cool. Well, I'm Chloe. Coffees all round?"

Kate and Max glance at each other, silently trying to figure out what must have been said to put Chloe off, but Warren just says, "yeah, nice," and collapses into the seat at the nearest table. "Ladies! Park ya butts." 

"Manners, Mr. Graham," Max says, and turns to speak to Chloe again to find her already gone, disappeared behind the coffee machine. So much grey smoke is rising up from behind it that she wouldn't be surprised to find Chloe with a full pack of cigarettes crammed between her teeth.

Kate pulls out a chair for Max before sitting herself, and reluctantly Max lowers herself down. "She's very pretty, Max."

Max barely has time to shush her before Warren says, loudly, "Yeah, you never told us she was so hot! Girls, jeez. Always focused on the 'oh she's nice and a good listener' thing. Do you think you could get me her number?"

"No," Max snaps, and she's starting to get a little antsy- was it something she'd said? Maybe she shouldn't spring introductions on Chloe like that. Wait, she had totally forgot to tell Chloe her class had been cancelled this afternoon-

"Princess! I have three coffees and only two hands!"

She shoots to her feet, scraping her chair backwards and nearly knocking it over before Warren catches it with a snort and a "walk much?", and she practically sprints to the front of the shop. 

Chloe's nails are freshly blue as they tap against the counter. "Usual for you, two regulars for your buddies."

"Thanks," Max says, taking her own and one for Kate. Chloe doesn't quite make eye contact as she scoops up one for Warren, instead gazing directly downwards with a set crease in her forehead. In an attempt to diffuse tension that strikes her as badly informed even before she's done saying it, Max says, as casually as she can, "So, your tattoo-"

Chloe nearly jumps out of her boots, and twists around cartoonishly, trying to see her back. "What?" she demands, sounding angry and worried and even more tense than before. "What about it?" 

"N-nothing," Max says, frowning at the tattoo as Chloe straightens, letting out a hard breath. It's pretty, and elegant- striking as it dissolves into a sunset of pink and reds down her back. But Max has heard paint tattoos like Chloe's are sketchy, maybe she's had problems before and that's what set her off. "Um. Are you okay?"

Snatching Warren's drink again, Chloe says, "Peachy. Anyway, your friends- Kate and Warner?"

"Warren," Max says, amused. 

"Right. Anyway. You fucking either of them?"

They're already halfway back to the table, but Max stops in her tracks. "Excuse me?" 

She sees Chloe's shoulders lift, a shrug. "Just curious. I know how you art students can be. No offense."

"No offense?" Max repeats, and elbows Chloe in the back because neither of her hands are free. Chloe flinches, like Max's touched on a bruise or something, and spins around, looking pissed. "No offense, but I know how you art students can't have a friend without fucking them? What the fuck?" 

Chloe's eyes are so narrow she can barely see the pupil. "I wasn't saying that, I was just asking. Damn, Max, chill." 

"What is up with you?" Max hisses, one eye on Kate and Warren, who are watching with concern (Kate) and interest (Warren). "Did I do something to you? Is it the heat making you like this?" 

As if suddenly getting an answer rather than a question, Chloe's eyes go wide, and she mutters, "the heat," like it's meaningful. Then her eyes go thin and mean again. "Well, since I'm being a total bitch, I'm sure you'd like to go hang with your other friends. Why'd you even bring them here?"

"To meet you!" Max says, starting to get pissed too but mostly just confused and appalled. "Because I like you! Jesus Christ!"

Something weird happens then- there's a sudden, hot feeling in the air between them, like they'd stepped into a sauna, and something electric sparks between their noses (closer together than Max had realized.) Max yelps a little, and closes her eyes; when she opens them again, Chloe's gone very pale. 

"What?" she says, and coughs- the air's thick again all of a sudden, but if it's with smoke or the heaviness of heat, she can't tell. Waving a hand in front of her face, she repeats, "What was that?"

"Fuck," Chloe says, and she's still pale but now there are high red spots in her cheeks, and she's not looking at Max but at her own hands like she's done something terrible. "Fuck, Max, I need to- I gotta go." And then she's snatching her jacket off the stand next to a wide-eyed Warren and screaming, "Joyce, I need to leave right now!" as the bell jangles and the door slams shut behind her. 

She took Warren's coffee with her. Max just stands there, in shock, until Warren and Kate get up and come over to her. 

"What was that about?" Warren says eagerly, just as Kate says, shocked, "Max, what did you say to her?" 

"I," Max says, passing the coffee to Kate mechanically even though her eyes haven't strayed an inch from the banging door Chloe left in her wake, "have no idea."

A second later, Joyce comes out from the kitchen, and when she asks Max where the hell her no-good deadbeat daughter's run off too, Max has to say she doesn't know. Kate, being the most excellent friend there can be, shuffles her out immediately after, and Warren, being the worst friend possible, whines the whole way out about his missing coffee.

"Still," he says, in some misguided attempt at reconcilement as Max walks, hunched and shellshocked, beside him, Kate patting her arm comfortingly, "your punk friend is really hot, even if she is kind of psychotic. I mean, it's kind of sexy when a girl-"

"Warren, would you shut up?" Kate snaps from Max's other side. "Max has a crush on Chloe. You're not being helpful." 

Thankfully, Warren does shut up after that, but whether it's over fear of Kate's wrath or to contemplate a fantasy of Max and Chloe making out, Max can't be sure. 

After dismissing Warren, Kate and a reluctant Max call the other girls down to the dorms to figure out what the hell happened. But between the two of them, Dana, Juliet, Alyssa, and Stella, not a single one of them can figure out where Max fucked up. 

"The only conclusion," Juliet says, "is that you didn't fuck up."

"Yeah!" Stella says, practically vibrating in place with excitement. "I bet when you came in with Warren and Kate, who are hot pieces-"

Kate blushes, as Max makes a face at the considering of Warren as a hot piece. "Oh, Stella, stop."

"-this Chloe girl went absolutely crazy with jealousy and took it out on you as an outlet! Which, of course, is inexcusable and you should have a talk about. But is also kind of romantic!"

Alyssa shakes her head. "The same kind of scenario happened in An Unhappy Girl, An Unwise Gentlemen," she says sagely. "And the guy ended up dying from regret. Watch out, Max."

"You can't die from regret," Max says.

Raising one perfectly rounded fingernail in the air, Dana quiets the conversation and announces, "Max, you are not at fault here. Stella's probably right, and she's jealous. Rachel Amber told me she had a total thing for you."

Max is already tugging on a strand of her hair, and when Dana says so she nearly pulls it right out of her head. "Ow! I mean- she did?"

"Yes," Dana says. "However, she shouldn't have freaked on you like that. Something's probably going on in her personal life. Next time you see her, the two of you should have a deep, interpersonal chat. And then make out."

The other girls nod in agreement, except Kate, who looks a little worried about the whole making-out thing. 

As kooky as they are, they're probably right. 

xxx

It gets really hot after that, and Chloe misses a week's worth of shifts.

On Tuesday when Max shows up at Whalesong, fully prepared to have a deep, interpersonal chat, or fight or apologize or do whatever it is she needs to do to figure out what the fuck is up with Chloe, she finds Rachel manning the counter and fending off five guys at once. 

When she sees Max, she beams, and waves her to the front of the line. "All right, you guys, beat it- Max, my love! How are you?"

"Hi, Rachel," Max says, elbowing her way to the front and ending up nearly sitting on the counter. "I'm good, it's nice to see you. Covering for Chloe?"

Rachel rolls her eyes. "You got it. I'm taking her shifts all week, and bitch is making me miss some pretty stellar parties, let me tell you. Don't worry, though, she left instructions for your coffee on the machine."

That's really sweet, and Max is going to say so but Rachel's already bustled off to make the coffee. Instead, she calls, "Sorry to hear your social life's been cramped. If you want, I could stand in for you. I've been told I'm a party animal, given my reputation at fourth-grade birthdays." 

The sound of Rachel's bubbly laugh rises up from behind the coffee maker, but without any smoke, which confirms Max's suspicions that Chloe hasn't been using the machine quite right. "Thanks for the offer, Max."

"So where is Chloe, anyway?" she continues, doing her best to sound like a concerned pal and not a lust-crazed stalker. "Definitely not business, so it must be pleasure."

Looking amused, Rachel returns to the counter, handing over Max's coffee with a wink. "You know," she says, leaning over the counter to whisper conspiratorially, "in my relationship with Chloe, usually she's the one beating off my admirers, not the other way around." When Max turns pink and begins to stutter out a response, she just giggles. "Oh, don't make that face, Max, you know I like you." Then she raises her voice. "Joyce! Max is here!"

Joyce emerges from the kitchen, looking frazzled but smiling to see Rachel and Max. "Max, honey, so good to see you. How's college treating you?"

Max barely finishes saying, "College is good," before Joyce continues steamrolling on. "You're probably wondering where Chloe is. You know, she is just so fond of you, and I couldn't be happier, really, she just spends so much time being miserable and she hasn't had a good friend-"

At this point, Rachel interjects with a "hey!" even though she hardly looks offended. 

"You didn't let me finish, I was going to say besides you, sweetheart. But anyways." Joyce exhales, seeming to relax a little, even though she's continuing to radiate motherly warmth in Max's direction. "I think you've been such a good influence on Chloe, and-"

"Joyce, for Christ's sake, the girl has to go to class," Rachel says, and not for the first time, Max is so grateful for Rachel Amber. If Joyce had talked any faster or smothered her with any more affection she was going to explode. "Just tell her where Chloe is, damn."

Max nods a little in agreement, and Joyce gives her a fond look before her expression becomes serious. "Of course. Well, to tell you the truth-" And here she hesitates, just a little. "Chloe isn't... feeling all that well."

Sounds fake, but Rachel doesn't seem like much of a liar and Joyce certainly isn't one. "Chloe's sick?"

"In a manner of speaking," Joyce says, and her voice is becoming progressively slower, more uneasy. "She has a problem around this time of year, you know. Breathing, and, er, itching, and of course it affects her mood- I should apologize to you, I know, I heard how abominably she treated you last week and you should know she feels terrible-" 

Max had stopped listening once symptoms started being listed. "Does this have to do with her smoking? Is it making her worse?" 

And to her complete and utter shock, Joyce and Rachel exchange glances, and chuckle.

Chuckle! 

"Kind of," Rachel says, and unsuccessfully tries to disguise a giggle with her hand. "I mean, a little bit."

Aghast, Max looks between the two of them as they attempt to sober up. "That's terrible!"

"It is, it absolutely is," Joyce says, with her best attempt at a straight face. "I've spoken to her about it, don't you worry. But it's one of those things that passes."

"Lung cancer doesn't pass!" Max exclaims, then when Rachel just bursts out laughing, becomes suspicious. "Are you two just teasing me? Because this wouldn't be funny."

The accusation is finally enough to get them both to stop laughing, and start protesting. "Oh honey, no-" Joyce says, as Rachel waves her hands and says, "We'd never-"

"Okay," Max says, starting to get impatient. "Is Chloe actually sick? Because I wanted to talk to her."

They both nod. "Totally sick," Rachel elaborates. "But tell you what, I'll text you when she's coming back to work, okay?"

"And I'll make you a coffee on the house," Joyce says, disappearing behind the machine. 

At that, Max feels all the fight just drain out of her. She likes Joyce and Rachel, after all. "No, it's okay. You need to stop giving me free food."

So Joyce gives her at least three days worth of free food, as punishment for protesting. 

xxx

The next week is very stressful. Max fails a quiz, barely takes any new photos, and keeps falling asleep in class because she isn't going to Whalesong for coffee. She spends a lot of time looking up medical symptoms connected to smoking-related diseases, and convinces herself Chloe is dying at least eight times. 

She also spends a lot of time trying to figure out if this is somehow her fault. Was Chloe really sick, or is she just sick of Max, and Joyce and Rachel are covering for her? She had been acting pretty pissed last time Max saw her. But she was acting weird, too- not like herself. So maybe it was disease. But what kind of disease makes you act like an asshole? And also gives you breathing problems? 

Chloe doesn't text her once. Max texts her at least fifty times, and leaves her ten voicemails, nearly half of which are just her saying "shit!" and hanging up.

It's a good thing Rachel finally texts her that weekend, because according to Dana she was only one more day away from intervention status. 

Rachel A: chloe's back at work monday lover girl

Max plans to sleep, to be fully rested and sharp enough to kill for what will surely be an epic confrontation, but ends up playing out fifty different scenarios of a conversation with Chloe in her head instead.

xxx

That Monday, Max is back at Whalesong at nine o'clock sharp, and so is Chloe. 

She's fake as hell, too- she's apparently forgotten that Whalesong has frosted but entirely transparent windows, and Max can see her pacing back and forth anxiously behind the counter as she walks up to the door. As soon as Max comes through, though, ringing the bell to the shop, she suddenly springs into action, polishing silverware and tapping at the cash register as if preoccupied. She even attempts a casual, "Oh, hey, princess. Miss m-"

"I need to talk to you," Max says, planting her hands on the counter and leaning across. Chloe backs up a solid three steps, eyes wide. Max swears she can see her pupils dilate- it's a very noticeable shift into big, entirely blue eyes. She actually may have been sick, though- there are dark bags under her eyes. "Privately." 

Chloe gives a nervous chuckle. "Max, I'm working-" 

"Oh honey, you can take a quick break, no one's here," says Joyce, appearing at Chloe's side in an instant and beaming pleasantly at the two of them "I'll cover for you, so go ahead and take Max out back."

That makes Chloe turn bright red, and she hisses, "Mom-!"

Smoke hisses out with the accusation, which tips off Max's breaking point. "Come on, Chloe," she says, powerwalks around the back of the counter, grabs Chloe by the hand, and pulls her all the way trough the kitchen and into the back alley. 

And she drags her feet the whole way, like a child. Once Max releases her, she rubs her wrist plaintively and whines, "Max, what the fuck-"

"Where the fuck have you been?" Max demands, and the warm outside air and the blood in her face and Chloe looking ruffled has all got her feeling hot and frustrated. "And don't lie." 

Looking shifty, Chloe responds, "Where did Rachel and my mom tell you I was?" 

"I'm sure they told me whatever you told them to tell me," Max says, and Chloe looks a little guilty. "But I want the truth, Chloe. I thought we were friends, and then you freaked out on me and disappeared for a week! What am I supposed to think?"

Oddly, something closes up in Chloe's expression, and she looks away, crossing her bare arms across her apron. "Yeah, we're friends."

What's her problem. "Then why are you hiding shit from me? I mean, tell me if I'm being way the fuck out of line, because maybe I misinterpreted our relationship, but-" 

"What relationship?" Chloe spits, and her gaze becomes harder even as she still refuses to meet Max's eyes. "I'm a fucking cashier, you're a customer. I don't owe you anything more than a coffee as long as you pay for it."

Max takes a step back, and she can feel the rubber of her sole scrape against the alley wall. "Is that really all I am to you?" she says, and if her voice cracks then who cares. 

The change in her voice seems to tell Chloe she's fucked up, though, and immediately all the bite seems to go out of her, her arms drop to her sides, and she looks at Max again. "Fuck, no, I didn't- fuck." 

"Whatever," Max says, and suddenly she feels like she's entirely cooled off, everything in her that Chloe always lights up switched off and silent and numb. "This was a stupid idea anyway. I'm going back to school." 

She shoulders past Chloe, who falls back a step when brushed up against, no resistance, her eyes staring ahead, wide and horrified, as if Max is still there. The back door to Whalesong is swung almost all the way open when she says, "Max, wait-" and grabs her by the wrist and pulls her back. 

Her hands are so hot, her hands are always so hot, and they feel strange and uncomfortable now rather than curious and tingling. Max tries to tug out of her grip, and when Chloe's nails dig in, they're too sharp, talonlike. "Hey, let go-"

"No, listen," Chloe says, and she still looks mad but it's not directed at Max anymore. She's not even looking at Max, staring at the ground instead like she's calculating something. "I always do this, I always fuck up with people I like by acting like as asshole and driving them away. I'm sick of acting weird and lying to you." 

At that, her nails ease a little out of Max's skin. Max frowns a little at the imprint they leave behind; pink-edged and white with strain. It'd be a good shot, but she doesn't have her camera with her and now's probably an inappropriate time for pictures anyway. "People you like," she repeats, carefully.

Chloe bares her teeth, but whether it's in a long-suffering smile or a scowl, Max can't tell. She just has one of those faces. "Yes, Max, I like you. I have a fucking crush on you. You're so dense." Even though Max barely has time to react, Chloe groans and slaps a hand to her forehead. "Ugh, this is what I mean! I'm a total bitch! Why do you hang out with me!" 

"Why do you think," Max spits, and her tone and the message she's trying to send don't quite match up, but she thinks Chloe might get it anyway. 

And she does. Palm still pressed hard and vertical between her brows, Chloe cracks one eye open and examines Max. Her gaze is incredulous and so nakedly hopeful that Max can't even bear to look back, just turns red and looks away.

Then, she opens both eyes and lowers her hand, using it instead to gently turn Max's head back so their eyes can meet again. "Princess," she says, and Max glares at her. "Why are you so pissed?"

It's going to sound stupid now in the wake of a fight already happened (and still happening, because Max is still angry, dammit), but she rolls her eyes upward and speaks, gaze fixed firmly on the sky. "Okay, fuck, I was upset because we fought, first of all, and I was worried it was something I'd done and then you just disappeared, and Joyce and Rachel told me you were sick and it had to do with your smoking, but they were acting like it was some big fucking joke. And I didn't know what to think, maybe they were making fun of me or there's some inside joke with you three about the hippie art student I don't know about, or if it was some kind of secret you were keeping from me, and I kind of realized I don't know a lot about you at all and that was kind of upsetting. Or it really does have to do with your smoking and you're really sick, in which case I'll make you a fucking PowerPoint about health and safety if you'll just quit, anyway the point is I'm tired of being kept in the dark when it comes to what's going on with you!"

She ends up saying all that really fast and in one breath, and at the end of it she's breathing heavy and has red high in her cheeks again, and Chloe's just staring at her, her expression unreadable. 

There's no response for a full minute, until Max prompts, her voice awkwardly high, "Well?"

"Those two told you I had a smoking problem," Chloe says flatly.

That wasn't entirely what they'd said, and now Max is second-guessing herself, so she hedges a little. "Well, that's not exactly what they told me." 

Chloe closes her eyes, and keeps them closed for an even ten seconds. Then she opens them again. "I'm going to kill them," she mutters, and then something that sounds weirdly like, "damn humans," before assessing Max again. "Max, I don't smoke."

Max doesn't give that even a second of thought before scoffing. "I've seen you smoke!" 

"You've seen smoke come out of my mouth," Chloe says. "Have you ever seen me with an actual cigarette, or a joint, or whatever?"

The most reasonable response Max can come up with for that kind of nonsensical counterargument is, "What the fuck kind of question is that?"

All she gets is a kind of knowing nod, like that is exactly the answer Chloe anticipated her giving. "Okay. This is gonna be kind of fucking weird to hear, okay? And you can't tell anyone, only Rachel and my mom know."

Oh my god. She's totally dying. 

Tears are already gathering in Max's eyes, and she barely even hears Chloe say, "I'm actually... a little part dragon,", she's so distracted. 

Then her eyed go dry again, and she frowns. "You're part dragon? What the fuck does that mean?"

A little callously, in Max's opinion, Chloe rolls her eyes and looks away. Her cheeks are turning red, though. "It means exactly what you think it means."

Unfortunately, Max doesn't have any idea what it means. "Um. I still don't know the lingo around here, is the Dragons, like, a gang, or something-"

"No, Max," Chloe says impatiently. "I'm literally part dragon, like that tiny asshole from Mulan. Scales, flames, all that shit." 

They maintain eye contact for a full minute, and Chloe's face is dead serious, which makes her teasing sting all the more. Finally, Max crosses her arms, and keeps her voice as even as it can be. "This is really fucking immature, Chloe."

Chloe's eyes go wide, but whether it's from frustration or disbelief, Max can't tell. "No, shit, I'm telling the truth- hang on."

Then she closes her eyes, seemingly in concentration, and her tongue slips forward between her lips, hissing and forked.

Her tongue is forked.

Being a composed young woman, Max's immediate response is to jump back about a foot and scream, "Ahhh what the fuck is that-" 

"Just a party trick," Chloe says disdainfully, opening her eyes again. "It's flexible. Tongue's normal again, see?"

She sticks it out again, and it is, but Max isn't sure she can trust her own eyes anymore. "What the fuck!" she repeats, with more feeling. 

Chloe shrugs, like it's no big deal. "Just part of the package," she says. "I can't, like, fly or anything, my greedy-ass ancestors all got to have wings but I lost 'em to genetic dilution or whatever. I can do some stuff though. Like- you'll believe me without a doubt after this, step back-"

Shocked into obedience, Max steps back, and Chloe looks down the alley to make sure no one's coming down the road. Then she gulps in a big lungful of air, holds it for a moment, then spews a steady stream of fire out. 

It's kind of hard for Max to accept, in the moment, that all along she's had a crush on a walking flamethrower. 

Chloe actually holds the flame for a while, then it sputters out thin and blue and she inhales again, giving Max a sly, sideways look. "Pretty cool, right?"

It kind of hits Max all at once then. 

Next thing she knows, Chloe's got her propped up against the wall, hands braced against her forearms. "Hey, hey- Max! You're okay, it's fine."

"You're a dragon?" Max manages, shrilly, and wow, if she'd known she could hit that note she'd have taken more chorus classes. 

Chloe shushes her, looking more embarrassed than anything else. "I'm only a little part dragon," she says, as if that completely smoothes things over, "relax."

"What the shit-" Max says, and she starts to feel a little woozy again- maybe Chloe can sense it because her eyebrows bunch together and she lifts her up more steadily against the wall. "The fuck- how does that happen?"

Looking uncomfortable, Chloe shrugs. "Don't ask me. It's a well-kept family secret how, one, great-great-great-great-grandma managed to find a dragon and, two, bang it, and in my opinion? We're better off not knowing. But dragon genes got kinda carried down my dad's side. We've been keeping a secret since. I don't have a lot of dragon-y stuff going on, so it's not hard." 

"Except breathing fire," Max says faintly, "and the tongue thing, and- the smoke, I guess?" 

Now Chloe's really blushing. "Yeah, uh. The smoke thing I usually have under control. It only gets really bad when- uh, yeah."

"Uh, yeah, what?" Max says, finally waving Chloe off to stand on her own. The alley wall is super jagged. 

"Um," Chloe says, and she's so red now her cheeks are probably as hot as the fire she just breathed. "Like, when I... like somebody."

It takes a second. But then Max gets it. "You get smoky when you're turned on!"

"Don't laugh," Chloe hisses, but it's too late, Max is already doubled over. "Max!"

"I'm sorry," Max wheezes. "But give me this. You literally- get steamy-" 

And she starts laughing again. Laughing is, after all, a better alternative to screaming and passing out, upon finding out your crush is part reptile. (Are dragons reptiles? They sure look like it.) 

After catching her breath, she straightens up and leans against the wall again, still chuckling. Chloe just watches her, unamused. "Okay, so. So you're part dragon. Anything else I should know about, other than the fire and tongue things?" 

"Uh," Chloe says, and rubs at the back of her neck. "Last week- when I was out. It didn't really have anything to do with you. Well, it kind of did. But it wasn't your fault."

"I know it wasn't my fault," Max says pointedly, and Chloe winces. Then her tone gentles. "So what was up, then?" 

Chloe suddenly is back to avoiding her gaze. "It was my bad," she says. "I totally forgot, but when it gets hot, dragons- and dragon-people- go into, like, this kind of weird heat state? Like, itchy and crabby and stuff. And I guess I kind of took it out on you because- because-" 

She looks just as embarrassed as she did the first time Max had ever met Rachel. Max ducks beneath her elbow, turns to meet her eyes, facing away from the street so Chloe only has to look at her. "Because what?"

"Okay, I'm gonna say this really fast so maybe you won't understand," Chloe says, and then says very quickly, "okay so when dragons are in the heat state it's basically like a mating period so when you came in with your friends I got really jealous and pissy because I'm hot for you but also instincts kicked in and I'm really very sorry now let's please forget about this forever." 

If Joyce had looked outside just then, she would have found two girls beet-red in the face and impressively avoiding each other's gaze despite being only a couple of inches apart. Eventually, Max is able to stutter out, "Mating period?"

"Shitfuck," Chloe mutters, then, "okay, listen, it's not just that. I sleep a lot. My scales shed. I-" 

"Your scales shed?" Max repeats incredulously. "You have scales? You didn't bring that up! Where are they?"

Some of the blood finally draining out of her face, Chloe sighs, and strips out of her jacket. "Nowhere weird. You've kind of already seen them, look-" 

At first, all Max can see is Chloe's tattoo, pressed in harsh colors against her right arm and across her shoulders. Then the skin there starts to become smoother, harder, to glint in the sun, and she gasps. "Holy shit!"

"Cool, right?" Chloe says smugly, as she flexes the pattern of glistening scales traveling up her arm and down her back. "It's kind of like retractable armor. Gets hot in the summer, though." Then, a little shyly, "You can touch if you want." 

Max doesn't waste any time- she runs her hand up the side of Chloe's forearm, where the scales are most abundant and largest. They're hard, and smooth, but warm and shiny and gorgeous in a way Max didn't think something so primordial could be. "This is amazing," she says, then pauses. Something about the scales is familiar- something about the texture, something about the warmth. "Hang on-"

Drawing her hand back, she reaches into the collar of her shirt and pulls forth the necklace Chloe'd given her for Christmas. The stone hangs beneath her pinched fingers, wine-red and warm and a smaller but certainly identical copy to the scales trailing up Chloe's arm. 

Rubbing a hand against the back of her neck, Chloe glances at the scale around Max's neck, then looks away again. "Yeah. That's actually a scale from my shoulder. Well, the necklace was Rachel's idea. But I thought you might like it, even if you didn't know what it was. Anyway, it totally doesn't compare to the photos you gave me." 

"Are you kidding?" Max says incredulously. "This is a dragon scale, from your dragon body, and it's coming second place to my shitty scrapbook?" 

"Hey," Chloe says, and she's seriously coming to the defense of the scrapbook here. "That was fucking important to me. I mean, like, the scale's just something I, like, plucked out, like a hair or something. You're the most talented photographer I've ever met, and I've met a lot, and you spent so much time around here paying attention to stuff and learning about the shop and my mom and Rachel and me and taking pictures without me even noticing, and then you thought I deserved to have something as special as the photos you took. So yeah, don't talk shit about my scrapbook." 

They're really close together again, and Chloe smells like a campfire but also a little like caramel and Max's coffee and her eyes are really so blue. 

Still, safety first. "Hey," Max says, and stands on her toes. "If I kiss you, is there a chance you're gonna breath fire on my face?"

Chloe blinks at her, surprised. Then she says, "Absolutely not. Don't even worry about it." 

"Great," Max says, pulls her down by the neck a little because Chloe is too tall, and kisses her. 

The tongue thing was freaky at first, but when you're making out it isn't so bad. 

After what doesn't feel like an hour but they discover was an hour, the back door to the shop swings open and Rachel sticks her head out. Max goes down on her toes and totally intends to stop making out, but Chloe evidently doesn't have the same intention, and just flips Rachel the bird from behind her back and keeps on kissing her. 

"Hey, guys," Rachel says, as if nothing's up. "Chloe, you piece of crap, it's your shift and Joyce called me in to fill it, so you owe me two lunches. And Max! Hey! Did you find out about the tattoo? It's hot, isn't it?" 

Chloe breaks the kiss to turn around and shout, "Rachel Amber, you are SHIT," and Max just laughs, helplessly, hands still clutched over Chloe's scaled shoulders.

**Author's Note:**

> .... I can't believe this fic happened.
> 
> Anyway! So this was crazy, huh? One moment you're perusing AUs on tumblr dot com, the next moment your girl is thinking she can write a fic entirely about dragon barista Chloe Price. A good idea? Who knows! Did I commit? Absolutely!
> 
> This fic may very well have a sequel coming up, but before that I'm working on another AU idea for these two. I'll probably have eighty fics up before Episode 4 even twinkles in Michel Koch's eye.


End file.
